


not bad, says I

by windandthestars



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sports, Gen, Horseback Riding, Jim and Jerry make and appearance (sort of), Prompt Bracket Fic, another weird au, cuddling for warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: “He never talks about you.”“That McAvoy boy?”“That’s you?” She gives him a small smile for that. “You were such a brat.”“Still am.” He laughs a little. “And you’re the new best in show.”“The girl.” She considers what she assumes is her actual title. “MacKenzie. Mac."
Relationships: Will McAvoy/MacKenzie McHale
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	not bad, says I

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've been posting a lot of odd AUs in a row, but they're shortish (faster/easier to edit) and I want to get through the list of prompts because I'm trying to be better about completing things, so here's another one. Sorry not sorry for the Pinocchio reference. I wasn't intending to make it a thing but I needed a title and well *shrugs*
> 
> No spoilers. Warnings for the usual language, mention of underage sex, dislocations and other medical stuff, and minor (OC) character death.

He’d heard the thump, the sound of something heavy hitting packed earth, but it’d been muffled, not loud enough to worry him, so he’d finished up the stall he’d been cleaning before he’d gone to investigate.

There isn’t much to see by the time he gets there. Charlie’s in the arena with Jerry who’s stomping and snorting at the interruption, displeased as he was with most things, and the girl, it must be her, he hasn’t seen her, they haven’t been introduced, but it must be her, is sitting on the bench outside the ring, hunched forward.

She’s watching him carefully, a little wearily, and he wonders what it is that Charlie’s said to make her look at him like that.

She’s quiet now but she’d been crying, he can see the tracks in the dust on her face, the same red brown dirt that’s smeared down one shoulder and settled in the ridges of her dark navy vest. She’s been shaken up, there’s no real sign of that, but she must have been because there’s no way in hell Charlie would let the best rider he’s had in decades sit around moping.

“He throw you?” Will nods toward Jerry and she shakes her head, a quick flick of her chin.

“He tossed you.” Will’s sure about that, brushing at his own arm in illustration.

She turns to look at her sleeve, frowns at it, but he notices she doesn’t try to wipe it clean, just frowns at the dirt caked there and sighs.

“I wasn’t intending on bailing.” It’s a little defensive, a little rough, her gaze stubbornly turned away from Charlie and he wonders how quickly that accusation had come, which one of them had suggested she should have, because she should have, he thinks, having ridden the horse himself enough to know he had his own agenda and holding on was foolish, but he could understand stubbornness, knew what kind of stubborn you had to be to get your own way around Charlie, so he can’t say he’d blame her if it came down to that.

“Jerry had other ideas?”

“Jerimiah is an ass.”

“Bullfrog.”

“Horse.” She insists stubbornly, eyes narrowing at the fact he seems to think now is a good time for a joke, but the corners of her mouth quirk up for a moment so he shrugs and smiles, brushing off the correction.

“He want you back on?” Again a nod toward the arena. Charlie’s going to have a thing or two to say to him about that later, but he doesn’t want to put any more pressure on her, Charlie’s continued presence is enough of an indication of his intent.

She shakes her head in silent refusal, eyes pressed shut for a moment, trying for stubborn he thinks, but falling short.

“Your arm fucked up?”

Charlie’s going to give him shit for that too be he hardly cares because it gets him an answer, a quiet “a little,” that obviously means a lot, because she hasn’t once moved it, had only tucked herself around it more protectively as they talked.

“He says you’re nicer than Rebecca.”

“Rebecca’s an acquired taste.” He lets her consider that for a moment. “Though she is far more technologically advanced than I am: she has x-ray vision. I mostly pull splinters out of kids at the county fair.”

It’s hardly a fair assessment of his skills. He’s spent the last couple of years volunteering as an EMT and has the training to back it up, but she’s tense and still a bit weary, and he wants her to relax.

“Did you hit your head?” He steps closer, leaning in toward her and then moves to crouch in front of her.

“No.” She fumbles around with her good hand, too intent on watching him to look, as she seeks out her helmet on the bench beside her and hands it to him. It’s clean, a nice smooth black.

“Can I?” He asks waiting for her nod, that tiny dip of her chin before reaching up to prod gently at the back of her head along the nape of her neck anyway. He’s not looking for anything, it’s a fair bet to assume her neck’s just as sore as the rest of her, hitting the dirt as hard as she had. She’s not happy with having him here, let alone this close, but there’s nothing either of them can do about that now, he’s just hoping if he gives her a minute she’ll relax enough to put up with him poking and prodding.

He’s not sure if it’s the thought of getting back on that damn horse or the pain, but she’s anxious. He can feel it now that he’s closer, the energy running through her, the tiny almost imperceptible shivers of pain, and he knows Charlie hanging around frowning pointedly isn’t helping.

“She’s not getting back on that horse. On any horse.” He keeps his voice even, low but firm. “You can take her to see Rebecca, but she’s going to tell you the same thing.”

Jerry snorts, stomps and Will turns, stares evenly, patiently unblinking, at Charlie.

He knows he can’t argue, he doesn’t have a whole lot of leverage in that regard, but he knows just as well as Charlie what happens when you’re stupid around a horse and it’s not as if Charlie can argue with his medical opinion. He could go over his head to Rebecca, but he wasn’t going to lie just to prove a point, Charlie knew that, so if he said it was a no go, it was a no go. He waits. Charlie frowns and then sighs, clicks his tongue and turns Jerry toward the gate.

Will watches them go, waits until he hears her shift so that when he turns back toward her she’s watching him a little more openly.

“I thought you mucked stalls in your spare time.”

“For spare change.” He corrects evenly, although it’s the manual labor that pays most of the bills his student loans won’t cover.

“There’s no way.” She insists and he can hear it now, the disbelief, because she’s right, Charlie wouldn’t let just anyway get away with the shit he’d just pulled.

“I grew up around here.” He means here in the strictest sense but he doesn’t want to get into it right now, the grief that had never been more than shocked confusion, the way that for years after he’d only been his brother’s shadow.

“He never talks about you.”

“That McAvoy boy?”

“That’s you?” She gives him a small smile for that. “You were such a brat.”

“Still am.” He laughs a little. “And you’re the new best in show.”

“The girl.” She considers what she assumes is her actual title. “MacKenzie. Mac. Is there a reason we don’t get names?”

Yes, he almost says, his name was Henry, my brother, but he doesn’t want to get into that so he shrugs and says instead, “that’s Charlie for you.”

“Stubborn.” She says and her face falls a little. “He thinks I’m lying.”

“About what?”

She shakes her head but he knows she means about being hurt, about being able to get back in the saddle, about Jerry being a walking nightmare. Charlie was pushing. Will knew what he was like in that kind of mood. He didn’t like to listen. He wouldn’t want to hear that the new horse he’d bought wasn’t panning out or that his top rider was out of commission.

“You’re on a deadline.”

“Wellington.” She winces a little as he presses into her better shoulder, the one she’d evidently landed on. “Beginning of February.”

“With a new horse.” He whistles a little then peers up to smile at her.

It’s not unheard of, he knows that. She has two months, less now that she’s going to need some time off, but it’s been the better part of a year since Jerry had showed up. Charlie had needed the new horse. He could’ve waited a year or two, but the money had been better last spring, especially when the offer on Jerry had come through.

“What happened to Cricket?” He turns her hand over to look at her wrist, working his way back up her arm.

“Jim? Jiminy.” She says when he’s clearly not catching on. “I didn’t like Cricket. He’s getting loved on in Connecticut.”

“So, not coming back.”

“It’s been two months.”

“So, no.”

“You wanna be the one to ask about that?” She pulls her arm back and frowns at him.

Outside the sound of a car door shutting with a snap echoes and she glances in the direction of the front of the barn. They’re too far from the driveway to hear the engine but he knows she’s listening for it too, waiting to be sure Charlie’s gone off to clear his head.

“No.” He agrees with her assessment knowing better than to try and argue with Charlie’s business decisions. “Is that why he’s pushing you so hard?”

She tips her head to the side a little in a sort of shrug.

“I’m the best shot he’s had in a long time.” She says in a voice that suggests she’s been hearing that a lot lately and she’s over it.

“He gets like that sometimes. He’ll get over it.”

“When?” She demands and he can’t tell her that. He doesn’t know. Charlie was predictable, but not that predictable, and there was no way to tell anyway. The talk, the talk he heard anyway, was always the same: the same frustration, the same enthusiasm.

Will hasn’t been around much, the snow made the drive out this way difficult, and with finals coming up he didn’t have a lot of time on his hands. The work at Leona’s wasn’t quite the same, but he could keep more regular hours, keep a bit of money trickling in while he’d waited to come back here.

Charlie’s clearly wishing he’d waited a little longer to show back up, but his anger would fizzle out. It always did. He’d get mad, but he didn’t stay mad, not at Will, although he knew other people weren’t always as lucky.

He takes a look at Mac’s other arm, wondering where she fell on that particular spectrum. She hadn’t seemed particularly upset by Charlie even if they’d both been a little unnerved by his silence. She’d been more upset by the fall, by the jarring pain in her elbow and her wrist.

She makes a noise, a tiny little strangled sound and he stops for a second to let her breathe. He’s staying away from her elbow, more cautious than he thinks he needs to be, because he’s not what’s making her nervous, that much is clear to him now. She’s done this before, or near enough that she knows what’s coming and she’s not happy about it.

Unfortunately there’s nothing he can do about that, short of give her a warning if she wants it and so he does. He counts back from five and hears the popping crack of everything slipping back into place, her gasp and the choked whimper that follows closely behind.

“All right?” He asks her as she swallows before nodding, her fingers tentatively moving as she rotates her arm.

Her thumb hasn’t moved. He knows she’s noticed, but she hasn’t said anything so he’s the one that offers to take a look. He pokes around carefully and then turns her wrist as a bit of distraction, offering to sort it out, although he’s intentionally vague about exactly what ‘it’ is. He could press a little harder, pass it off as a bad sprain, it’s not as badly dislocated as her elbow had been, but he counts her down, watching her face scrunch up before he glances down and watches everything slip into place.

“God—” She slams her mouth shut against the rest of the curse.

“That should do it. Other than bed and some ice.” He says firmly. “I can help you up to the house.”

“I can—” she starts but she’s swaying on her feet, muscles stiff and already aching as she tries to pre-empt his offer.

She could make it up to the house, in a couple of hours maybe not, but she’d be fine now, slow, he knows, but he still insists, leaning to carefully lever his shoulder under her arm. He takes most of her weight, but lets her keep her feet, moving slowly toward the house, occasionally stooping to gather her belongings as they leave the barn.

“That’s mine.” She says pointing her foot toward a bag left just inside the front door. She’s hobbling on her own now, having gingerly made her way up the front steps so he grabs the bag, the oversized duffle and follows her farther into the house. 

She has one of the rooms at the front, across from the master, another of Charlie’s guarantees; she’d stay out of trouble if he could keep an eye on her.

“I like the pink.” He teases as she gingerly settles on the end of the bed and her face crinkles up.

He knows she hadn’t picked the color. The room’s been pink for as long as he could remember, something Katie had picked out when she’d been young enough to care about the state of the room she’d long since outgrown.

“At least it’s not Katie’s other favorite color.”

“She had another favorite color?” He’s caught up in trying to imagine what that might have been, Katie was a little older than him but not so much older that he wouldn’t have noticed something like a shift in her unwavering love for ballerina pink. He’s so caught up in trying to imagine what he’s missed that he almost doesn’t catch that she’d been flippant.

“All right then.” He shakes his head at himself and then grins at her. “I asked for that, huh?”

“Eh,” she sighs, a smile quivering at corners of her mouth. “It’s a touchy subject. Charlie won’t let me change it. He seems to think it’s teenage boy repellent.”

“Did you get caught—”

“Yes.” She groans, her smile fading a bit. “No one told me I,” she stops herself with a shake of her head and he returns the gesture. Anyone who had spent any amount of time under Charlie’s roof had gotten that lecture, had gotten chewed out for some perceived impropriety.

“He saw us, it— well you probably heard about that.”

He had he realizes with a start, the lecture he’d gotten about keeping his hands and his eyes to himself when one of the other stablehands had left unexpectedly right before he’d had to go back to school, leaving Charlie more short staffed than he’d anticipated. “That was you.”

“Yeah.” Her smile is gone, replaced with a vaguely worried look, like she’s concerned about this new reputation of hers, but there’s also a stubborn defiance there too, because it couldn’t have been fair, whatever Charlie had said, the responsibility he had laid at her feet. He wouldn’t have meant it to be cruel, but Charlie frustrated and dismayed was a man to be reckoned with. “And now he’s,” she sighs.

“Worse than usual.” He fills in, knowing that didn’t go nearly far enough to explain Charlie’s more recent demeanor but it was a piece of the puzzle he’d been missing. When he’d found out one of the stablehands had been asked to leave after fooling around in one of the storage sheds Will had assumed it’d been with another member of staff, maybe one of the summer help, he hadn’t anticipated it being one of the riders, hadn’t expected it to be her, Charlie’s rising star.

“He’s been worried about—” she shakes her head. “He’s not going to be happy when he gets back.”

“He’s not—” He starts to say but he knows what she means. Jerry’s ill temper wasn’t Mac’s fault he wouldn’t blame her for that, but he would be irritated with her seemingly slow recovery, with the tight timeline they’d be on. “I’ll get you some ice then,” he says moving away from the end of her bed. “You all right with getting those clothes off?”

He had figured she wouldn’t be, but he lets her fuss for a while with the zippers before he helps her out of her vest and pries off her boots. She has to wiggle out of her pants, prying them down over her hips until he can yank them off, inelegantly, turning them inside out as he tugs them past her ankles and over her feet.

She’s content with the fitted t-shirt she has on but she has him dig a pair of pajama pants out of a nearby dresser. He’s expecting her to tug them on while he heads to the kitchen to find some ice, but she’s less self-conscious than he thinks most girls her age are, but then again he reminds himself, seeing her triumphant smile, she’s probably changed in her fair share of barns in partial view of whoever happened to be wandering by. Having him standing there pretending not to notice probably wasn’t a big deal and he finds he likes that about her.

Even with one hand she manages with surprising ease and then sits grinning at him until he shrugs and tells her he’s headed to the kitchen.

By the time she gets back she doesn’t want the ice. It’s too cold she complains when he dumps the lot of it onto the bed.

“That’s the point.” He reminds her, serious now that she’s pouting at him.

She doesn’t care, that’s clearly evident, but he doesn’t think he’s going to have to argue with her. He’ll dig out an extra blanket or two and she’ll settle down but she’s still frowning displeased by the time he smoothes a blanket over the bed.

“It isn’t fair.” She informs him and he waits for the rest of her argument. “You get to go off and be warm and—” she glares a bit and he sighs.

“I can sit with you for a while.” He offers, knowing that won’t solve the actual problem but it mollifies her, a tiny smile creeping back onto her face as he sits and pats the bed beside him waiting for her to settle in.

She’s cold and she’s bored so he offers to read to her, picking up the volume she’s left on the nightstand beside him, a collection of short stories. He picks one at random figuring she’ll fall asleep before he’s finished, but she’s still fussing, complaining about being uncomfortable about being cold when he starts a second story, although it seems half-hearted now that she’s burrowed in closer, her head in his lap.

“Under the covers.” He suggests, the blanket obviously not doing enough to keep her warm, but she’s reluctant until he yanks the covers back and crawls in himself, barn clothes and all. It’s a horrible idea, at best he’s covered in bits of hay and horse hair, but she’s amused, the corners of her mouth twitching as she waits for him to tug the blankets up over her shoulder.

“Better?” He asks, but better is half an hour later when he scoots down in the bed so she can lay her head on his chest while he reads, an ice pack pressed between them and he has to admit that she’s right, the things are horribly uncomfortably cold.

He turns the page and keeps reading even though he’s pretty sure she’s fallen asleep, even though he’d like to remove her half frozen fingers from where they’re sitting under the edge of his sweatshirt, cold through his t-shirt, but he hasn’t touched her since she’d pressed herself against him and he won’t, but even so he feels guilty when he hears Nancy in the hall, glancing up reluctantly when he hears her stop by the door.

“How’s our girl?” She whispers with a smile as he looks up from the book to shrug.

“She was cold.” He offers, lackluster and flat, despite the way the corners of Nancy’s eyes have crinkled in amusement.

“She has a way of getting what she wants.” She offers with a nod toward the bed.

“Charlie—”

“Don’t worry about him.” The dismissal comes fondly on the heels of another smile. “I’ll call you both for dinner in about an hour. He won’t be back before then. He asked me to leave his food in the fridge.”

“I—” He sighs and then nods. Nancy wasn’t particularly stubborn, but she had a soft spot for her kids as she called them all. He could argue all he wanted, but he wouldn’t win. If Charlie had driven out of town it wasn’t likely he’d be back, Will knows that, but he’s still worried about Mac he realizes, although it’s his job on the line. Charlie wasn’t about to give her up, but she seems so fragile now that she’s asleep, so still and obviously injured, the tiniest movements, twitches of discomfort, raising winces, the fingers of her uninjured hand occasionally curling sharp against the back of his ribs.

“I’ll have to muck stalls during dinner.”

“I’ll send you out with a sandwich and save you a plate.”

He wasn’t going to get a better offer so he nods and shrugs as she turns to go, trying to remember the last time he’d managed to have dinner at the table. It’d been last spring he thinks, evidently before Mac had shown up. That would’ve been Charlie’s doing, he can see that now. They always shared time after dinner, a quick recap of the day. Charlie had a barn manager, but Will had been around longer than almost all the staff and Charlie trusted his opinion, trusted his opinion more, or wanted a second one so they hardly skipped a day when he was around, but he’d be laying low tonight giving Charlie time to cool down which meant he definitely had more than enough time to muck the stalls, to lie here and keep reading.

Mac’s asleep, definitely asleep, but she’s warm and solid and the stories aren’t half bad so he reads another to himself before setting the book back on the nightstand and laying his hand against the curve of her skull feeling it rise and fall as he breathed. They’d have to get up in a minute, Nancy would be back, but he closes his eyes anyway and lets his mind drift.


End file.
